


The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, Bobby Singer grows old and Crowley uses his magic to ease suffering instead of causing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Serpentsign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentsign/gifts).



It had been fifteen years since the apocalypse. Fifteen years since they’d met, and Crowley had bought Bobby’s soul.

They had gone from reluctant allies to drinking buddies, to friends, to fuck buddies, to something quiet and comfortable where they shared their lives and beds, were used to having each other there, and knowing they could rely on each other more than they could rely on anyone else.

Fifteen years of sleeping together, of being on opposite sides and somehow managing to make it work despite their incendiary personalities and drinking habits. Other hunters didn’t understand- the few of them who knew that their beloved Singer was banging a demon, banging the king of demons even.

But fifteen years on, Bobby Singer was waking up on his side of the bed- a bed he still had from when he and Karen had lived here together. He was fifteen years older and creakier. His body had taken a beating from long hard life, and nearly three decades of being a hunter. Bobby was one of the oldest hunters still in the game, even if he only answered phones and did research and left the vengeful spirits and wendigos to the younger men and women. The ones with crosses to bear, the ones who hadn’t made their peace with loved ones lost to the supernatural. 

Hunting wasn’t always a family business- wasn’t even usually a family business. You didn’t hunt unless you thought you had nothing left to lose; hunter’s children didn’t tend to get raised with enough normality, enough attention. The Winchesters were a perfect example of this, though they wouldn’t have had a choice- being ‘destined’ or some shit. Least being hunters gave his boys a bit of a chance. 

Lost in thought Bobby shifted in bed, moving to pull the blankets closer around him and was jolted out of memory by the protest of his stiff, aching back and his abused knee joints. Crowley had left late last night- gone back to Hell on business or something, so Bobby didn’t even try to hold back the soft moan of pain as he attempted to move into a painless position. Except, he rolls into the waiting arms of Crowley, who must have returned in the early morning hours. The demon grumbled and fussed, reaching down to touch Bobby’s knees and hips with hands made of heat and magic, easing Bobby’s suffering as they passed. Crowley ran both hands along Bobby’s problematic back, soothing worn bone and tight muscles. He kissed the back of Bobby’s neck when he was through, wrapped his arms around Bobby’s aging body, and pulled the blankets tight around them both, knowing the warmth would ease any lingering aches the human wasn’t telling him about.

“You can ask next time, you know.”

Bobby snorts “Yeah, and how much is that gonna cost me?”

Crowley mutters into the back of Bobby’s neck- or maybe he doesn’t mutter and it’s just a reminder that Bobby’s ears are going.

“What’d you say?”

“Said, ‘It’ll cost you a morning in bed.”

“Ain’t got it in me right now.” 

Crowley leered- and the look said that Bobby could have it in him if he wanted. ”Didn’t say anything about sex. Though, if you feel it’s a requirement, I’m sure something can be arranged.”

Bobby didn’t say anything, just relaxed back into Crowley, allowing himself to be spooned. He closed his eyes and drifts back into memory, warm, safe, and comfortable. 

Curled around him, Crowley was quietly scheming, devising plots to put into action when the morning of rest he conned Bobby into is over. 

That afternoon, when Bobby comes downstairs, not totally recovered, but all the better for an extra few hours of rest and Crowley’s magic, Crowley has made him lunch and was sitting on one end of the couch, idly watching a documentary about killer whales. Bobby lay down on the couch, his head in Crowley’s lap, reaching out for the sandwich on the coffee table. 

“It’s gonna cost you.” Crowley’s voice was oddly quiet, no teasing, no smug, superior tone. 

“Cost me what?” Bobby asked warily, leaving the sandwich on the table.

“Your soul.”

Bobby looked up into Crowley’s eyes. “How long do I get?”

Crowley checked it watch, more for show than anything. “About five minutes.”

“Ain’t long.” Bobby pauses. “But, it’s mebbe enough time for a sandwich.”

“I think it’s exactly long enough for a sandwich.”

Bobby started eating his sandwich, closing his eyes when Crowley started playing with his hair. He finished the sandwich and brushed the crumbs off his flannel shirt and waited a moment. “Is it gonna hurt?” he finally asked, his voice fragile.

Crowley smiled down at him, and Bobby couldn’t figure out why, until he looked down at his chest to see the long thin knife Crowley had slipped between his ribs. 

“No, it’s not going to hurt, love.” Crowley replied as Bobby closed his eyes.

It felt like only a few seconds later that Bobby opened his eyes, and Crowley was standing over him. “Welcome to Hell, love.”


End file.
